


Clair de Lune

by katopiyo



Series: Evens Month 2020 [10]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Evens Month 2020, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26210095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katopiyo/pseuds/katopiyo
Summary: It's a well known fact that all good things come to an end - there's nothing to be done about it. 4→2.
Relationships: Duo Maxwell/Quatre Raberba Winner
Series: Evens Month 2020 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859044
Kudos: 4





	Clair de Lune

**Author's Note:**

> Best read after [Mondscheinsonate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25643854).  
> Takes place just before episode 17 with references and heavy inspiration from official GW works by Mato.  
> The pilots have all been through a lot, but they're still a bunch of teenagers.

Peace is difficult to obtain - that's how the world has been since long before the colonies were made - since thousands of years ago, when the first humans walked upon Earth.

There is no war without peace and no peace without war - no peace without sacrifice.

Even heroes, hailed as saviors for centuries cannot exist without evil as a counterpart. If the world were perfect, they wouldn't have to exist.

Even in an era vastly different from those long past, human history continues to repeat itself.

Quatre felt sorry for the Earth and for the colonies - for space as a whole.

Earth has a different beauty than that of the colonies, with the curvature of the sturdy metal skyline, the beautifully engineered simulations of the weather, and the unbeatable view of the solar system and other distant celestial bodies from the colonies' positions in the area around Earth.

Earth brought a whole new experience, raw and uncontrolled, uncalculated - gazing out over the windless desert at dusk, watching the moon and stars sparkle at midnight, exploring forests and jungles, and being given flowers he'd never grow in the controlled climate of L4 - it was all so breathtaking.

But watching the blooms wilt in their vase - in the safehouse, in dim moonlight, Quatre came to a realization.

It's a well known fact that all good things come to an end - there's nothing to be done about it.

It's been a short while since Quatre descended to Earth on his own. He and Duo have been hiding out in a new region for a while now, but Quatre is still having trouble adjusting with differences in time with travel around the world. 

Faint light from the moon spills in through the curtains, mingling with the warm light of the lamp on the desk as he thinks, the flowers he and his companion had received now long gone.

He sits in his chair, pen and paper resting in front of him, accompanied by a small box, white highlighted with blue, and a few touches of red. Fabric adhesive bandages - an old technology, often forgotten, but appreciated greatly when needed. 

Tomorrow marked the day that the pair would leave this hideout behind, and the plan was to have a flashy departure - to relay a message to the other pilots who were still on Earth after Zero-One's self-detonation - after all five of them had been rendered unable to battle by threats against the colonies by OZ.

Gundam cockpits were secure, but they weren't perfect. And depending on the circumstances, one of them might die.

Quatre knows that Duo is perfectly capable of holding his own - perhaps even more capable than himself. He'd made it all this way on his own, after all - beam scythe swinging, cutting down enemies despite all odds.

Almost alarmingly so, Duo was kind and gentle at heart. Quatre remembers their escape from the desert - his desire to do something to help the Maguanacs - to do anything he could. He remembers the pain in his voice then, and the pain in his voice when they finally discussed what had sent them to hide in the first place - the apparent death of one of their few allies - the similarities between themselves and flowers, which Duo hadn't realized died so quickly.

Quatre knows that kindness is not weakness. 

But he remembers sitting outside with the braided boy, hearing him enthuse about Earth - realizing how similar they both thought. He remembers the way that Duo looked up at the moon, eyes filled with wonder. He remembers the troubled, lopsided grin Duo gave him when a joke Quatre'd told hadn't quite come through as a joke - the crinkling at the corners of his eyes - the warm tone of his laughter echoing quietly in the night.

_I can't let him die._

_I_ won't _let him die._

But if Quatre dies in the process of keeping him safe, he has to leave something - something to say goodbye - something to apologize.

Unfortunately, small bandages aren’t very useful if a limb gets blasted off, but there’s not much else he has to offer, seeing as the two of them have been cooped up in hiding, and currency is too impersonal for his tastes.

Quatre draws in a breath, trying to string together the right words in his mind.

There are too many variables, and too many things he wants to say. He might not even actually die. He can't predict the future.

'I'm glad I had the opportunity to meet you'? True, absolutely. But the impact of even such a seemingly simple sentiment can be corrupted to the point where the original intent becomes unrecognizable.

_Don't overthink this._

There is no reason for him to spill everything onto the paper. There is nothing wrong with short and simple. Duo will likely understand the sentiment.

"These are for you."

Quatre whispers the words aloud to see how they sound - if the feeling matches his intent.

"Just in case," he adds quietly.

_That's not enough._

'Thank you for being a friend'?

_That might rub him the wrong way._

Hand to his chin, he glances at the clock, noting the time, still wading through a sea of words and sentence structures in his mind, looking for the right fit for what he should say - for what he wants to say, for what he feels.

_Be safe._

_I'll miss you._

Quatre shakes his head.

He doesn't want to trouble his friend or to make him worry - he knows that that's the last thing Duo needs.

So the words go unsaid - unwritten - replaced with a sociable 'take care.'

With poise and with grace, Quatre guides the pen along the paper, strokes controlled as he leaves his name - first, middle initial, then last.

When the ink dries, he takes the bandages from the box, setting them neatly in the center of the sheet.

His folds are clean and precise and perfectly planned, and when he finishes, he stands and walks to the room that Duo has claimed as his own - to Duo's trousers, laid out over a chair, slipping the packet into their right pocket.

Gently, the breezes flows through the window, cracked slightly open.

Quatre glances over to the bed - at Duo's sleeping face - at his horrible sleeping posture, and the messy pool his hair falls into on the sheets.

Amused, he starts to feel a little more optimistic, a small smile forming on his features.

Maybe it's not the right impact, and maybe it's not everything he wanted. But at least something's there, no matter how small.

He doesn't know if this is goodbye, but the thought of the possibility still lingers.

_I hope we'll meet again._


End file.
